Restless Thoughts

On the first night, dawn would not be sparked,
For I was bound by my own turmoil
And drenched in sweat from an inner fight.
For my tongue was slit and my hands marked—
Eyes grew weary with a heavy heart,
And still there was no end in sight.

On the second night, I prayed—for bliss
With my head and pillow entangling
In the way that lovers do—to be caught
In an embrace—to feel my blanket’s kiss.
But my ragged dream was foregone
To a mind that would not cease its thought.

By the third night I was a walking ghost,
And as I paced the room back and forth—
Long past the afterglow of a crystal ball—
Long past hope of finding rest—most
The apparitions that haunted me
Followed, as we stepped through the halls.

On the fourth night I sold my faith
To elixirs promised to give relief—
But still I could not relight
The ease of finding peace—the wraith
Of extraneous desire would not cease—
So I left my home in a desperate flight

On the fifth night I conversed in jumbles
With the phantoms that sat with me—
We spoke of tales we write and aspire
To come to life—their mumbles
Seemed to comfort me but even they
Grew weary long before my retire.

By the sixth night my eyes were shadows,
Cheeks sunken and gaze misaligned—
I remained awake, bound to distress
And cursed aspirations that follow.
I slunk about from the window—sure—
In sleep, I would not find success.

DannYetmanwww.yetmanpoetry.blogspot.com